Happenstance
by SummerDaze2010
Summary: She'd grown since the night the Blackwater had burnt and not just her looks had changed; there was more wolf in her now and he couldn't help but feel proud. What happens when the Hound stumbles upon the fair Bastard daughter hidden away in the Vale.
1. Chapter 1

'The fuck have you done to your hair, girl'

The growl came out of the dark, the sound half taking her mind off to another time, another dark bedroom with an eerie green glow and the smell of burning. Alayne couldn't place it but Sansa could and she shivered in the cool night air, her skin goose prickling.

Closing the door and hearing the latch click she steeled herself, pulling out the bastard brave courage hidden deep within Alayne, 'There are two guards just the other side of this door. If I scream they'll be in here in seconds.' Sansa was beyond relieved Alayne had been able to hide the fear she felt.

'We both know I'd kill them both with this pretty little knife your father gifted all his guests before they could cry for help.' He spat the word father, the sneer on his face masked by the dark yet Sansa knew it was there.

She gasped. _It couldn't be..._

'You're meant to be _dead_ '

'Where have your courtesies gone bird? Is that any way to welcome the dead back to the land of the living? Now, you'll tell me what's going on here and you'll tell me now. I'll not abandon you twice.'


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn't much missed the rage that two years with Elder Brother had taught him to control but three times today he had felt the cold fingers slither into his heart and wrap around it and the way he had reacted to it had unnerved him. It had made him careless and he'd almost acted on instinct rather than thought. He sat down hard on the edge of the straw palette and kicked his boots off harder than was necessary, sending them flying half way across the small room in the East Tower.

 _Fucking bird._

He'd never forgotten about her, in fact often wondered where she'd ended up and was the topic of most of his interactions with Elder Brother, but being away from her had made him forget, dulled what it was like to be around her. This happenstance of fate pushing her into his path again had thrown him. He was unprepared and needed to think, but the desire to act was overwhelming. He'd offered before, offered to take her away to safety, to her family but she'd been too terrified of him then to go. From what he'd seen of her today she was braver now, she answered back and stood her ground, maybe she would accept this time. Frustrated he sighed, rubbing his face with his large calloused hands. There was too much he did not understand.

Snorting, he wondered if he should take offence. He wasn't easily mistaken for another and she had failed to recognise him, he was sure of it. Twice today their paths had crossed and all he had received from her was that blank expression. It was different now though, not that glassy eyed, defiant stare she'd had when looking upon her father's head. No, he found this new expression worrying. She was her but she was not, almost as if she was wearing a mask of her face. He'd had plenty of time during the feast tonight to look upon her face unseen from the shadows, and the control she wielded over her expressions inexplicably saddened him - almost as much as the way she had discretely glanced to Littlefinger for permission before doing anything had caused him to feel the familiar simmerings of rage bubbling away beneath his skin.

Huffing, he laid back on the hard palette and closed his eyes, brows drawn together in a frown as he replayed the day in his mind to try to make sense of it. He hadn't been shocked to see her at the gate with the other girl, greeting their visitors but neither had he been expecting it. Whispers of the sudden arrival of Littlefinger's bastard daughter had spread across the kingdom and when he'd first heard of it in a tavern close to the Quiet Isle he'd snorted and told the barkeep that anyone who believed Littlefinger stupid enough to get one of his whores with child was like to believe him the most handsome knight of the seven kingdoms.

When he had first seen her he hadn't recognised her right away, not with her dull, dark hair and the inches added to her height over the years they'd been apart; he tried not to notice that she would certainly no longer be mistaken for a girl with the way her hips and breasts had filled out. He questioned himself as to her identity for only a moment until something one of the Waynwood fools said made her tilt her head back and laugh and he caught sight of those undeniably Tully eyes. His heart beat skipped for only a moment as her voice drifted over to him, three men back from where she stood conversing with the Lady Anya. He heard her bite back a most discourteous remark and for a second time his conviction waived, his little bird would have never dared answer back like that, especially not to the fucking Heir of the Vale. It was the set of her jaw as she turned and marched off that confirmed it for him and he bit back a smile thinking perhaps she did have some wolf in her after all.

He'd lost sight of her then, the twenty strong party escorting the Heir and the Waynwoods taking much longer to reach castle than the two young girls. He was shown to his room by a pimply green boy who ran off quick as he could; Sandor no longer felt the rage he used to when people would look anywhere but his face yet it still made him wary.

Thankful that the Heir seemed to think high enough of his abilities as a sellsword to warrant his own room, Sandor had used the time to wash the weeks of travel from his skin and clothes. He'd examined himself in the small looking glass hung crookedly above the basin, wondering if perhaps he had changed over the years as she had. Older perhaps, the years working outdoors in the wind digging graves had not been kind to his skin but it had meant he retained his physique, broad and strong, the muscles rippling under the pock marked, scarred skin as he moved. Raising his grey eyes to his face he grunted. There was no mistaking this, never. This mass of scars and twisted skin that claimed half his face. No, if she had seen him she would have known him.

After he'd washed and dressed, opting for a leather jerkin rather than full plate armour, he'd left his room and wandered the castle and its grounds gaining his bearings should he need to defend his new master. It was during this exploration that he'd caught a second glimpse of her. Watching from a small, high up window his eyes had followed her as she made her way across the yard, every inch the lady of the castle with the same girl in tow as before at the gate and the addition of what looked like a serving master, no doubt finalising details of this evenings feast. For a moment he felt a calm settle over him, this is what her life should be, who she should be, the busy Lady of the castle, fluttering around and keeping herself happy with her womanly duties. Squinting as Littlefinger glided across the ground to meet her Sandor couldn't help but think it was the wrong castle.

When time came for the feast he'd had a few hours to puzzle over why no one seemed to find it strange Sansa Stark was hidden away in the Vale. Before the first course had arrived he'd worked out it wasn't that they didn't find it strange, it was that they didn't know. They didn't know she was Sansa Stark, Princess of Winterfell...Queen of the North in the minds of some. That puzzled him further.

He'd had an excellent view of her up on the dais, the fire behind her giving her an ethereal glow while she smiled and laughed with Baelish and the Royces. He ignored her studiously instead choosing to concentrate on his food, all 64 courses of it. The bird had done well organising it all but even he could see Baelish was ultimately behind it, sending a message to all those Lords in attendance, displaying his wealth and what he had to offer in exchange for their support.

He brooded and ate, grunting and snarling at anyone who tried to speak with him until he saw three cooks wheeling out the biggest lemon cake he'd ever seen. He couldn't not look at her then. His hand froze halfway to his mouth as he watched the delighted smile spread across her face, her eyes on Littlefinger alone, her eyes alight with emotion, but what emotion he couldn't place. Pushing his chair back he'd made his exit from the table, sinking into the shadows at the back of the room as systematically Littlefinger's household staff transformed the room from a banqueting hall in to a dancing room.

That was when he'd been able to really watch her; watch her float from guest to guest, suitor to suitor as they all clamoured to have her hand in a dance. She'd smiled and laughed and touched their arms in all the right places, enamouring them further to her and yet something seemed so off about it. He watched her for hours, his intense gaze following her around the room as he tried to learn about the woman she was now rather than the scared young girl he had once known. It was during that time that she'd walked past him, her gaze quickly sweeping past him as she smiled her apologies for bumping into him, flying off to speak with some other guests, cajoling them up to dance.

Harry had appeared by his side then, leaning against the wall next to him, his gaze following Sandor's to land on the bird.

'There are worse things to marry.'

'Aye,' Sandor grunted, carefully schooling his features. He'd never been one to talk, didn't want to draw attention to himself by suddenly seeming interested now. 'She's no Frey'

The Heir snorted at that, holding out a black velvet cloth wrapped around something small enough to fit in the palm of Harry's hand, something with such a distinct shape that it could only be a dagger. 'Here,' Harry handed it to him, 'Lord Baelish has given all competitors tokens to remember the tourney by. I have no need of it but I know my merry band of sellswords are often on the lookout for new weaponry.'

Sandor had taken it with a grunt and slid it into his boot, he'd take a proper look at it later.

'I suppose I better go and dance with my wife to be' Harry had left him then, Sandor's brows knit tight together as he tried to puzzle this out. His attention was caught by Harry delicately taking Sansa's hand, spinning her around the room. It was as his eyes followed her spin that he caught sight of Littlefinger watching too, a pleased smile on his lips and a cunning glint in his eye. Whatever was going on here Littlefinger was engineering it, of that much Sandor was certain. The thought filled him with more rage than he'd felt in years and chilled him to his bones. What was the bird caught up in here, just how dangerous was it?

And that was how he'd ended up back in his room kicking his boots across the floor. His new master wasn't cruel, not like Joff, she wouldn't be beaten or humiliated but neither would he love her as she deserved to be. She'd have a comfortable life, caged in a bigger castle that wasn't hers, mayhaps even some babes but she'd never truly be free and she'd never truly be happy.

He growled into the empty room and cursed her again for the turmoil she was causing. Why did it have to be fucking Littlefinger she was with. Littlefinger with his manipulative schemes and disturbing looks towards her. He needed more time to think. He needed to fucking sleep, after so many weeks travelling and camping outdoors this wooden palette felt like a feather bed in comparison. He laid fully down, stretching his large frame across the hard wood and fell into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa stepped back until her legs found the edge of her bed and she sank down.

"Show your face. Show me it's you."

She heard him stand, his steps echoing around the silent room until he was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He brushed her little finger as he took the sconce she was holding and walked away, lighting the candles around the room before sitting back down in the chair by her window.

"Aye, it's me. There's no other bastard in the seven kingdoms with this mess of a face. Now tell me girl, what in the fuck is going on here?"

"I…" Sansa was lost for words. She'd thought him dead. She'd thought on him many times over the years, wishing he would whisk her away as he'd offered all those years ago. She'd thought so much…Alayne started to surface again as Sansa drowned in what if's. "I'm to marry Harold Hardyng. This tourney is engineered for us to meet and for me to…to entice him. I'm fortunate that the Lady Anya has agreed to such a match, Harry is the Heir to the Vale and I am just a bastard girl."

"Littlefinger has you chirping as well as Cersei did. I've half a mind to put you over my shoulder and take you away from his filthy hands here and now."

"No!" Sansa's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes shot to the door. She held her breath while waiting to see if her outburst had alerted the guards outside her door. "No." She repeated, just as firmly, but quieter. "When I am married to Harry and the marriage…consummated…Littlefinger will declare me Sansa Stark and with the army of the Vale, led by Harry, we will take back Winterfell."

"And then what?"

Sansa's brow wrinkled "What do you mean 'and then what?' And then I will be back in my family's home. I will be the Stark in Winterfell. Harry will be Lord Protector of the North and I shall be his Lady wife."

"Aye, and you think the Lannisters will allow this to happen? There will be no questions? Cersei will have no problem with the girl accused of murdering her son, the King of Westeros no less, go back to her family home as the Lady of Winterfell with no repercussions?"

"I…We…We'll have the Vale. We'll have the power of the North and the Vale. The North will not let the daughter of Eddard Stark be hunted by a Southron traitor."

"A Lannister no less. Aye girl, seems you've got it all worked out with Littlefinger's scheme. What is in it for him I wonder. If you're happy here I'll leave you be. Far be it for a dog to get in the way of your plan."

Sandor was disappointed. The girl he was talking to now was not the girl her had pictured her to become. She was still a scared, trapped girl, being used and manipulated by others for power. He argued with himself mentally for a moment, debating if he should just take her, fuck what she wants, take her away from this game playing and let her live a normal life with normal freedoms. Or would that make him as bad as everyone else?

He stood, "I see you've no need of me" he confirmed as much to himself as to her. Walking to the window he pushed it open and leaned outside, pushing the snow from the window ledge.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice rang clear across the room and he paused, turning to face her once again.

"My new master is competing. Seems to me like this tourney was thrown in his honour."

"You must stop referring to yourself as a dog" She was almost dismissive in her comment and it made him snort. "Do you mean you are here with Harry?"

"Aye."

She was silent a moment and he turned back to the window, pulling himself up to stand on the ledge.

"Will you stay?" Her voice was small. They both knew the meaning of the question was more than the words suggested: Although my answer isn't yes, it's not no either.

"Aye. Fret not, little bird, I'll keep your secret, but I won't bother you again. You'll seek me out, if you want."

Without waiting for a response Sandor stepped out of the window. All Sansa heard was the swish of his cloak as it fluttered like a shadow behind him. She ran to the window to assure herself he had landed safely for her rooms were not on the first floor, yet she could see nothing in the darkness that swallowed the world outside of her room.

Closing the window Sansa shed her evening dress, carelessly leaving it strewn across the floor. No matter, she thought to herself, her maid would deal with it in the morning. Sansa brushed her hair and changed into her bed clothes, trying to calm her running mind. Thoughts of the past, of King's Landing, of being stripped and beaten…of being rescued and protected. She lay in her bed as her thoughts drifted to that night. That last night she'd seen him, laying in her bed with a cold knife pressed to her throat and his body large and looming over her. Of all the things she had been scared of, the thought that her would cut her had never even occurred. She'd thought he would steal her for himself, take her away and keep her as his wife. Looking back over the years, she had come to believe that he'd at the least found her pretty if he had not cared for her.

 _ **"I could keep you safe."**_

 _ **"No one would hurt you again or I'd kill them"**_

It was to these more pleasant thoughts of protection and safety that Sansa slipped off into sleep.

For the next few days Alayne was kept busy. Playing hostess or looking after her Sweet Robin, introducing him to guests and making sure he only appeared as strong and wise beyond his years to the guests. It was beyond tiring. She had rarely seen her father, let alone her friends. It was three days after the night Sandor had appeared in her rooms that she had some time to herself. Had it not been for seeing his large figure at mealtimes she would have thought that she had dreamt up the whole encounter, as she had in the past.

The morning was hectic but Alayne was able to arrange to lunch with Myranda and Mia. Just after noon the three were sat in Alayne's chambers with platters of meat and fruit and lemon cakes and flagons of Arbour Gold.

With so many guests and visitors in the Vale there was much gossip to catch up on. Whilst Sansa disapproved of salacious gossip, Alayne felt it beneficial to know the goings on of the people in Vale, should the knowledge become handy - just one of Littlefinger's many lessons.

Gasping and giggling at the goings on, the conversation soon turned to the three girls themselves. With so many eligible suitors in the vicinity there was much to catch up on. Questioning Alayne about Harry and their interactions Alayne couldn't help but appear less than impressed.

"He has fathered bastards all across the Vale!" Alayne exclaimed in exasperation. Both Mia and Myranda burst out laughing and exchanged a look. "Because I am a bastard I am expected to put up with a husband that fathers children wherever he goes? I think not."

Myranda and Mia giggled once again, Myranda directing the sttention to Mia. "And who is the giant in the stables that has been putting a smile on your face Mia?"

Sansa sat up straighter. The giant in the stables…that could only be one person, surely.

Mia giggled coyly, smiling to herself. "You must mean the reformed Quiet Isle brother. Oh stop looking so scandalised Alayne! Unfortunately for me the good brother has displayed admirable self restraint, for certainly I have never tended to the mules quite so thoroughly or dressed quite so boldly. Still, the mules will need seeing to this afternoon and no doubt the huge brother will be there tending to his own black beast of a horse."

Sansa gasped. The Hound "You mean the scarred man?"

Mia frowned. "Alayne you should not be so quick to judge. His scars only show that he has suffered, yet he is strong enough to battle through and carry on."

"Mia, you are correct; I often forget how wise you are for you are always fumbling around in the stables with one man or another." Alayne jested while Sansa considered her friend's words.

Sansa had not been able to shake the image of Mia and Sandor tangled together in the hay of the stables. She was left restless and with a tension that made her snap at her poor Sweet Robin and her maid.

The following day Sansafound herself near the stables in the afternoon. She had put Sweet Robin to bed for his rest between lunch and the evening feast, she had snapped at the kitchen staff, ordered her maid to bring a hot bath to her chambers and seen to the set up of the banquet hall. And still she found she had an endless energy that carried her to the stables.

She paused outside. Taking a breath and mentally preparing herself should she find herself faced with Mia's bare bottom bobbing up and down on the Hound. As she neared the stable door her fears lessened as she could hear voices; Mia's teasing laughter and the Hound's gruff rasp. Again she paused, having satisfied herself that they weren't fucking Sansa wondered if she would be interrupting. In Kings Landing Sandor hadn't been known for his friendships, if he felt comfortable talking with Mia, perhaps they should be left to it?

Her legs carried her forward and before she'd finished her thought her fingers were unlatching the stable door. Alerted to the presence of another person nearby the soft chatter coming from inside the stable ceased. Pushing the door open and gliding in Sansa came face to face with the Hound, tending what she assumed to be Stranger. Facing each other, Sansa's breath was taken away by the sheer size of him. Her bedroom had been dark and so she had not fully approached just how broad and tall he was. Sandor clearly had not been idle in years since she had seen him last.

Sansa's eyes met his and her breath was taken away by the intensity of his gaze. Almost imperceptibly he nodded before Sansa's gaze was torn away to his left, to Mia's shout of surprise, "Alayne! What on earth are you doing in the stables? I must confess I had never thought I'd see you in here."

Sansa was aware of the small smirked that twitched across the Hound's scarred lips.

Alayne smiled conspiracaly "I would take your advice and stop being so…ladylike. Afterall, we are both bastards."

This time Sansa saw the frown that passed across the Hound's face. Smiling at him as she picked up her skirts and crossed the stable to Mia, Sansa knew she would have a visitor in her bedroom late tonight.


End file.
